Today is the Day
by But We Lost Ourselves
Summary: Today is the day. The hour is closer than ever. It has been ten years, and today is the day.
1. Part I

Today is the day.  
It has been ten years, and today is the day.

The mirror-me states back, a black hole in the form of a too-skinny, pale, sickly looking girl. Mirror-me sucks it all out. The pain. The worry. The thoughts. The life.  
The thing it is most gracious for sucking out is the life.  
Real-me can't take it anymore. Can't take hurting these people.  
Mirror-me meets my hand with hers on the glass. The lighter skin raised on her wrists—remnants of miserable days in almost as desperate of times—shines across mirror-me's pale complexion in the shrill fluorescent floodlight. Real-me knows that she has the exact same ones. After all, they can only keep an IV in one place for so long. She also has the same empty eyes.  
The person that was once contained in them has already gone into hibernation for the winter.

Today is the day.  
The hour is closer than ever.  
It has been ten years, and today is the day.

I was six when they found the first trace. They said that it was just a bit. Chemo-controllable. And the radiation would be a breeze. Losing hair? No... The amount of treatment that I'd be receiving wouldn't cause those symptoms.  
And "Oh, honey. Are you the most beautiful little thing?"  
I got a lot of that.  
But "just a bit" turns into a fatal dosage quickly when it's leukemia. Hospital bills fly sky-high and the PET machine's favorite color is always glowing.  
And my mother. She was always crying.

Today is the day.  
The hour is closer than ever.  
The clock ticks are magnified to a roar.  
It has been ten years, and today is the day.

When I was five, my father would let me stand on his toes and we would go dancing around the living room. The music was always either inaudible or the Beatles, and it flowed between father and daughter in an awe-inspiring way.  
Mom would turn away from her pot of potato soup on the stove and watch us, laughing along from her post in the kitchen.  
We were always three peas in a pod, mom, dad, and I. Always finding enjoyment from the least likely of things. Like scavenger hunters looking for a new adventure.  
My dad died the summer I turned six. He took a bullet to the chest in a Beijing sting-op. They always told him that the best FBI agents don't get to stay with their families for very long.  
They were right. Because he's gone from this world forever, no matter how long his legacy lives on through those insignificant little medals they keep giving us. As if that will ever make up for it.  
I lost my best friend that day. Mom did too.

Today is the day.  
The hour is closer than ever.  
The clock ticks are magnified to a roar.  
Everything has slowed around me.  
It has been ten years, and today is the day.

I was in the hospital for two years the first round. They would have me come in every two weeks for chemo until it got worse. Then it turned into every week. Then I was too weak to go home. Eventually, I was to the brink of death. The doctors swore I would never see nine.  
But, miracle of all miracles, the chemo actually started working, and I saw nine. Then ten. And eleven. But, now, everyone knows that I won't see seventeen. Miracles don't happen twice.

Today is the day.  
The hour is closer than ever.  
The clock ticks are magnified to a roar.  
Everything has slowed around me.  
The nurse comes in, checks my stats, and shakes her head.  
It has been ten years, and today is the day.

Remission is a bitch. Excuse my French, but it's true. It will fool you for years into having hope that everything is going to be fine.  
It sure fooled me. I'm not that stupid anymore. I was in remission for seven and a half years. Then, at a routine six-month check up, the PET lit up like Times Square. I just sat there, stone cold and impassive as the doctor rambled on about our options. Somehow, somewhere deep down inside, I'd always known that this moment would come.  
It was the hospital that became our new home that day.  
But "sweetheart, you should just see the house I've got picked out for us when you get out of here. It's one of those brick townhouses in the historic district like you've always wanted."  
We both knew that coming to Baltimore would be my last move. John Hopkins is good, but they can't work miracles.  
And my mother. She was always crying.

Today is the day.  
The hour is closer than ever.  
The clock ticks are magnified to a roar.  
Everything has slowed around me.  
The nurse comes in, checks my stats, and shakes her head.  
The doctor is trying to calm my mother in the hallway.  
It has been ten years, and today is the day.

I have died two times in my life. It sounds impossible, but it's true. Both times were on the e-med flight to Baltimore. Before I got on the plane, my mother pleaded to fly with us. She didn't want to leave me.  
My consciousness slowly fading, so "ma'am, we don't have time to argue with you. If we delay any longer, she might not make it."  
He was wrong, of course. There was no further delay, but I only made it thirty minutes before I was gone.  
People always ask me what it was like—being dead. It was the best sleep I've ever had. But the shock... That hurt like hell.  
And the second time I coded, having to wake up was even worse.  
That deep sleep—death. I didn't have to think about the pain of the cancer. I didn't have to worry about my hair that was falling out by the fistfuls. About my mother's pain. About her having to watch her last family member slowly die away. About the med bills or the boy that I had loved and who had loved me back. Well, that is, until we found out exactly how bad the cancer was—the rate that it was spreading at. Then Josh decided that he couldn't handle dealing with a girlfriend that was becoming fast friends with the grim reaper.  
But, obviously I didn't die forever. And Josh? I kinda don't blame him.

Today is the day.  
The hour is closer than ever.  
The clock ticks are magnified to a roar.  
Everything has slowed around me.  
The nurse comes in, checks my stats, and shakes her head.  
The doctor is trying to calm my mother in the hallway.  
There's a "get well soon" card from all of my classmates back home sitting on the window ledge.  
It has been ten years, and today is the day.

**A/N:**

**So, this is my first time to actually post a story to FanFiction...**

**Is this A/N awkward as it feels? Haha. Sorry.**

**BUT... Please review!**

**Constructive criticism is always welcome!**

**Thanks!**

**Inez**


	2. Part II

**Now it's going to start getting more into the storyline... And Zach? Patience, young grasshoppers. Patience. ;)**

Today is the day.  
The hour is closer than ever.  
The clock ticks are magnified to a roar.  
Everything has slowed around me.  
The nurse comes in, checks my stats, and shakes her head.  
The doctor is trying to calm my mother in the hallway.  
There's a "get well soon" card from all of my classmates back home sitting on the window ledge.  
It has been ten years, and today is the day.

One afternoon, a few months ago, the doctors decided that I was climbing the uphill slope. That I was getting stronger. The nurse told me that if I was careful not to push it, I could try to walk around the hospital for a bit.  
After being quarantined to a room for weeks, one learned not to question a chance at freedom. They actually took out my IV.  
My mom acted as if it was a holiday. I guess it kinda was. She made me put my regular clothes on (the only ones that didn't fall off of my by that point) and told me to wear my most normal-looking wig.  
I finally agreed. Because the last thing a past-dead teenage girl wants to see us someone's pity-filled gaze while they whisper something into another person's ear. I've seen more than enough of those in my lifetime.  
We ate lunch together that day, mom and I. It was almost as if things were back to normal. Only I seemed to understand that normal was far, far away by that point.  
But pretending it was close was nice.  
Mom found a friend that day. Another middle-aged woman who was sitting by herself at a table in the cafeteria.  
Her daughter was in for a remission checkup. She'd been in the clear for two years now.  
Mom gave me a look, as if asking and apologizing at the same time. I nodded and went on my way.  
After all, who was I to take away the first reason she'd laughed in a year?  
It was hard going at first without her to lean on. The more I walked, though, the more steady my legs seemed to become, and after a painstakingly long journey, I finally had arrived at the resident Starbucks.  
That Starbucks and the sad little card were the only pieces I had left of home.

Today is the day.  
The hour is closer than ever.  
The clock ticks are magnified to a roar.  
Everything has slowed around me.  
The nurse comes in, checks my stats, and shakes her head.  
The doctor is trying to calm my mother in the hallway.  
There's a "get well soon" card from all of my classmates back home sitting on the window ledge.  
An empty Starbucks cup on my bed stand.  
It has been ten years, and today is the day.

Back home, my three best friends, Macey, Bex, and Liz, and I would go get caramel lattes every morning at Starbucks. Josh always made fun of us for it—said it was a waste of money, but I didn't care. Cancer taught me to cherish the little things that kept my friends close.  
They used to come and visit, but now Liz is off to college (after graduating two years early with early admission to Stanford), Macey is in Paris modeling, and Bex claims that she just can't see me like this.  
I don't blame her. I'm a back-from-the-dead ghost of who I used to be. An imposter inside my own worn out body.  
But, we all still talk on the phone and drink our lattes with each other on mornings I'm feeling up to it.  
That's all that matters.  
But, today I don't look like quite as much of ghost, and a first trip to the hospital's Starbucks seems only right.  
The furniture is well-worn and filled with people that look almost as exhausted as I feel, but the air doesn't smell like a hospital.  
The coffeehouse fragrance is more than welcome.  
I order my latte and pay up to the mad-looking lady behind the register, then stand in line behind the others ahead of me. I feel more normal than I have in ages.  
Until someone bumps into me and I feel myself nearly falling.  
For "I'm sorry" turns quickly into "oh my god, are you alright?" when one lets out an involuntary shriek of pain.  
He'd hardly even hit me, but I knew it'd leave me black and blue. I turned and saw worried and gorgeous green eyes—a boy my age.

Today is the day.  
The hour is closer than ever.  
The clock ticks are magnified to a roar.  
Everything has slowed around me.  
The nurse comes in, checks my stats, and shakes her head.  
The doctor is trying to calm my mother in the hallway.  
There's a "get well soon" card from all of my classmates back home sitting on the window ledge.  
A picture of Macey, Bex, Liz, and I soaking wet and covered in shaving cream after Battle of the Classes our sophomore year is sitting beside the cup.  
It has been ten years, and today is the day.

I managed to stutter out that I was fine, but the boy still looked skeptical. Wouldn't anyone that hears the excuse from someone that looks like the walking dead?  
And his eyes—oh, god, his eyes. I know he was asking me something, but I never heard a word. You could drown in those eyes. They were the color of emeralds, only with more sparkle.  
Then "Hey. Hello?... Hey! I think your coffee is ready."  
And my blush becoming even brighter. I hastily took the cup from the bored-looking worker and turned away. Mom was probably looking for me by that point, but for some reason I wanted—needed—to stay in the coffee shop a bit longer.  
I really owed it to my friends. They would be glad to hear that I'd actually gotten my own latte for once instead of having a nurse or my mom go get it. And as much as I hated to admit, I needed it for myself as well.  
The booth I sank into was soft, and only then did I realize that my legs were practically jello.  
I checked my blood sugar, feeling eyes on me. (Yet another wonderful side effect of cancer. Blood sugar problems. And blood pressure problems. And many, many other problems.)  
Low. Perfect explanation for the jelloey legs. My insulin pump beeped as I confirmed the adjustment and hooked it back on the waistband of my jeans.  
Jumping at "Hmm... Diabetic, seventeen, and blonde. Interesting," as I glanced back up and found that the guy from the counter had slipped silently into the seat across from me.  
He smirked when I asked how he had managed to sneak up in me. It only grew when I corrected him about my age. As if he had been a year off on purpose. I didn't even bother to mention that seventeen was an impossibility for me. The last thing I wanted was his pity.

Today is the day.  
The hour is closer than ever.  
The clock ticks are magnified to a roar.  
Everything has slowed around me.  
The nurse comes in, checks my stats, and shakes her head.  
The doctor is trying to calm my mother in the hallway.  
There's a "get well soon" card from all of my classmates back home sitting on the window ledge.  
A picture of Macey, Bex, Liz, and I soaking wet and covered in shaving cream after Battle of the Classes our sophomore year is sitting beside the cup.  
A bouquet of deep purple roses rests on the sill beside the "get well soon" farewell, it's card stating "It's never too early, darling. Happy 17th. – Z."  
It has been ten years, and today is the day.

**So... Part Two... How was it? It wasn't as heavy this time around...**

**Review and tell me what you think? Oh, and please tell me if there are any grammar mistakes. Some of them are intentional, but I'm otherwise somewhat of a grammar nazi. Haha**

**Thanks for the wonderful reviews! They are greatly appreciated!**

**Until next time. (Seriously, my phone just made me retype that "until" five times...)**

**—Inez**

**P.S. Disclaimer: I do not own the Gallagher Girls. The marvelous Ally Carter does.**


	3. Part III

Zach. His name was Zach. Is Zach.  
Zach with the gorgeous eyes, Zach with the cocky smirk, and Zach with the perfect, wavy chestnut, almost-needing-to-be-cut hair.  
That was the last thing he told me that first day at Starbucks. His name, that is. The first thing that he told me was that he always seemed to bump into the prettiest of girls, and that  
"Honestly, darling. I don't make a habit of it."  
His accents was British—the kind that only comes from a childhood in London (I would know. Bex has the exact same one)— and his eyes were warm.  
I didn't trust him. At all.  
But, he didn't ask why I was so frail and pale. He explained easily that he had needed a break from his stepdad and had moved in with his dad for the year as if he had known me for years, not minutes. And that his dad was a doctor at the hospital.  
My cancer doctor.  
I didn't tell him this, of course. Or that I even have cancer.  
He mentioned that I must visit here often. That I have the same weary eyes and tired expression of the other regulars.  
A "something like that..." ended up being my hesitant reply.  
He seemed to realize that I didn't want to talk about it. The best thing of all? He seemed to respect that I didn't.  
We talked for an hour.  
My doctor (his dad) said that he thought the day had been good for me. Of course, he had no idea that the best part had been meeting his son.  
Because maybe, just maybe, if he had known, he wouldn't have let me stay out and about for as many weeks as he did. Who, in their right mind, would knowingly let their child grow attached to someone that would be gone in less than three months?

Today is the day.  
The hour is closer than ever.  
The clock ticks are magnified to a roar.  
Everything has slowed around me.  
The nurse comes in, checks my stats, and shakes her head.  
The doctor is trying to calm my mother in the hallway.  
There's a "get well soon" card from all of my classmates back home sitting on the window ledge.  
A picture of Macey, Bex, Liz, and I soaking wet and covered in shaving cream after Battle of the Classes our sophomore year is sitting beside the cup.  
A bouquet of deep purple roses rests on the sill beside the "get well soon" farewell, it's card stating "It's never too early, darling. Happy 17th. – Z."  
The most beautiful and sweet boy I have ever met sits, exhausted and asleep, in the chair beside me, his hand clinging to mine.  
It has been ten years, and today is the day.

The next day, I walked into Starbucks and saw him sitting at our table, a Breakfast Blend (venti black) in his hand and a caramel latte (also venti) across from him.  
He smirked when he saw me, no doubt amused by the surprised look on my face. And by my rapidly spreading blush. He patted the table, and I walked hesitantly over.  
But, nonfat milk turned into whole that day because "you're too thin, Cammie" overrules concern for blood sugar, and four dollars every morning turned into free because, "Honestly. Don't insult my chivalry."  
That day and nearly every other since then. He would always be there waiting for me with his both annoying and adorable smirk in place.  
I always had my guard up. But he was sweet and caring, and I found that it took less and less time for him to crack through my walls.  
Yet, there was one thing I refused to tell him. Why I was at the hospital everyday. As far as I was concerned, he would never know.  
Maybe, when my time got really close, I would tell him that I had to go away to my grandparents' for a while. Maybe I would give him some other excuse. I guess I'll never know for sure.  
What he didn't know wouldn't hurt him. Quite literally.  
But, everyday the doctor said that my signs were looking better and better. And everyday my false hope would grow a little more and a little more.  
Mom mentioned "that boy" was a miracle. I couldn't agree more, but I still haven't gotten used to her actually approving of a guy yet. She hated Josh. Maybe for good reason.  
Dr. Patel asked what boy with a scandalous smirk on his face. One that greatly resembled his son's. Mom started to speak, but I cut her off with "nobody." He seemed disappointed, and I felt bad.  
He's the reason I've managed to stay alive for this long.

Today is the day.  
The hour is closer than ever.  
The clock ticks are magnified to a roar.  
Everything has slowed around me.  
The nurse comes in, checks my stats, and shakes her head.  
The doctor is trying to calm my mother in the hallway.  
There's a "get well soon" card from all of my classmates back home sitting on the window ledge.  
A picture of Macey, Bex, Liz, and I soaking wet and covered in shaving cream after Battle of the Classes our sophomore year is sitting beside the cup.  
A bouquet of deep purple roses rests on the sill beside the "get well soon" farewell, it's card stating "It's never too early, darling. Happy 17th. – Z."  
The most beautiful and sweet boy I have ever met sits, exhausted and asleep, in the chair beside me, his hand clinging to mine.  
A doctor's prescription is pinned on my bulletin board— "More time with 'that boy'."  
It has been ten years, and today is the day.

"Never." Zach laughs and grabs my hand, pulling me through the lobby. We were nearly out the door, and I intended to go no further. When I planted my feet, he got an even more mischievous glint in his eyes.  
There was a "don't make me do this, Cams," then another refusal. And the next thing I knew, I was upside down over his shoulder, kicking and screaming and no doubt making a scene.  
And thanking God that my wig was pinned on tightly enough.  
Wouldn't my hair falling off in the hospital's lobby be an awkward thing to try to explain?  
Yet, despite my protests, Zach was still laughing, and I still landed in the fountain's pool out front.  
Despite the warm-for-fall air, the water was icy, and there was no doubt in my mind that I would be sick the next day.  
I screamed as he jumped in behind me, completely soaking us both, along with a few innocent bystanders. His tshirt was clinging to his chest, and I couldn't help but stare.  
Then he splashed me, which woke me out of my trance. I blushed and looked away, pulling at my shirt that was sticking to my too-skinny stomach. I guess you would say it's one that most teenage girls would kill for. Cancer had killed me for it.  
When I glanced back up, self-conscious, he was watching me closely. And he was closer. A lot closer.  
I started to ask him what he was looking at, but I only got a few words out before he dipped his head and crushed his lips to mine.  
It caught me of guard. The last person that had kissed me was Josh. And that seemed like forever ago.  
But his lips were soft and sure, as if randomly kissing people you've only known for two weeks while in a hospital's fountain is perfectly normal.  
Maybe it is. I'm not in touch with many normal things these days.  
He must have felt me tense, because he pulled back after a moment. Glancing at my lips, then into my eyes, his glowed with mischief. I bit my lip and glanced away, unable to hold his gaze.  
My senses were in hyper-drive. I could feel the people staring, hear a child begging her father for ice cream, and smell the wonderfully irresistible scent that was Zach.  
And boy could I ever feel the fire that his hand was burning my cheek with as he kissed me again, harder this time.  
I kissed him back at first, but as soon as he tried to deepen it, I pulled back, flustered and knowing that it was wrong. That I couldn't do this to him.  
When "I... I'm sorry..." comes out as a stutter and "I can't do this" is blurted out before running back into the hospital. Running away.  
Cold air hitting me like a wall, causing me to shiver and my teeth to chatter. The elevator not coming fast enough, then stepping in and turning around to see him still standing in the fountain, looking both hurt and confused. And staring straight at me.  
I mouthed 'I'm sorry' one last time before a nurse walked in and pressed the third floor button, making the doors slide shut between us.

Today is the day.  
The hour is closer than ever.  
The clock ticks are magnified to a roar.  
Everything has slowed around me.  
The nurse comes in, checks my stats, and shakes her head.  
The doctor is trying to calm my mother in the hallway.  
There's a "get well soon" card from all of my classmates back home sitting on the window ledge.  
A picture of Macey, Bex, Liz, and I soaking wet and covered in shaving cream after Battle of the Classes our sophomore year is sitting beside the cup.  
A bouquet of deep purple roses rests on the sill beside the "get well soon" farewell, it's card stating "It's never too early, darling. Happy 17th. – Z."  
The most beautiful and sweet boy I have ever met sits, exhausted and asleep, in the chair beside me, his hand clinging to mine.  
A doctor's prescription is pinned on my bulletin board— "More time with 'that boy'."  
The fountain outside is visible through the window, frozen over from the December chill.  
It has been ten years, and today is the day.

**A/N: Ello, my dears. So... What did you think? **

**I really hope you liked it. **

**I hope that satistfied your Zammie hunger. Haha. **

**I feel the strange need to share the funny moment of the day; our band director randomly pulled out a bag of fortune cookies and started chunking them at us. Haha. Anyways.**

**Review please? I love hearing your opinions! :)**

**—Inez**


	4. Part IV

The next morning, he wasn't at Starbucks. And he wasn't the next morning either. Or the next.  
Mom sensed that something was wrong. Asked why I was so quick to return to my room every day. Deep down, I know she knew.  
The fourth day with no Zach, I was crossing my room to the restroom when I heard raised voices outside my door.  
But "Rachel, she is dying. DYING. It's gotten progressively worse these past few weeks. We figured the least we could do was give her a little freedom to live" doesn't bode well for a teen's spirits.  
Mom's voice: "I don't appreciate you LYING to me and my daughter."  
A quiet apology. A muttered "there's nothing more we can do."  
I am sliding down the wall, collapsing onto the floor. The doctor's words ring through my head. Nothing more they can do. Dying. I am dying.  
I've known it all this time. That my days are limited. That I won't see seventeen. But no one had ever SAID it. Ever been so blunt. Ever shocked the theory into action.  
I can feel it now, though—the cancer working its way through my body. I can sense it ruining everything in its wake. That pain in my stomach and my bones that I've been ignoring is there now, pushing its throbbing self to the front of my brain with sneaky, probing fingers.  
And, I realize, this is the exact reason Dr. Patel hadn't told us the truth. Because he knew what it would do to me. That I would give up.

Today is the day.  
The hour is closer than ever.  
The clock ticks are magnified to a roar.  
Everything has slowed around me.  
The nurse comes in, checks my stats, and shakes her head.  
The doctor is trying to calm my mother in the hallway.  
There's a "get well soon" card from all of my classmates back home sitting on the window ledge.  
A picture of Macey, Bex, Liz, and I soaking wet and covered in shaving cream after Battle of the Classes our sophomore year is sitting beside the cup.  
A bouquet of deep purple roses rests on the sill beside the "get well soon" farewell, it's card stating "It's never too early, darling. Happy 17th. – Z."  
The most beautiful and sweet boy I have ever met sits, exhausted and asleep, in the chair beside me, his hand clinging to mine.  
A doctor's prescription is pinned on my bulletin board— "More time with 'that boy'."  
The fountain outside is visible through the window, frozen over from the December chill.  
I only have a few hours left, if that.  
It has been ten years, and today is the day.

I went down to Starbucks in my favorite button-up fleece pajamas the next morning. I didn't bother with my wig.  
Mom wasn't up to fuss over it. She had cried all night long, and had just fallen asleep before I got up to leave. And it wasn't like I would be seeing anyone that mattered anyway.  
But, when I walked through the door, I saw a familiar boy seated at a familiar table, cup in his hand and cup sitting across from him.  
When he glanced up and saw me, his smirk was weary, and I immediately felt self-conscious. He motioned me over, and I walked hesitantly to join him.  
Yet "that's a good look for you, darling" isn't quite as convincing as the "very sexy" that comes after it. Especially when the latter is said in the most serious tone you have ever heard the speaker use.  
I laugh a quiet, half-laugh, then slide into the booth opposite him.  
An even more serious "you only think I'm kidding" and a shrug on my part.  
I asked him why he was there, and he replied to see me. Why else?  
Why else? Maybe because I'm nearly dead. Because I lied to him. Because I ran that day. The list went on and on as I rambled on and on.  
He didn't look at me when he said that he already knew. He glanced away and it was muttered as an almost inaudible whisper.  
I asked him how and how long. His father had mentioned that he had a sixteen year old patient that was nearly gone. That she'd found a friend—a boy that was doing her soul good but exhausting and killing her body. That he felt sorry for the girl. And even more sorry for the boy.  
And Zach was used to having to put two and two together.  
It made me mad. He had known while I was going through so much trouble to keep it from him. I snapped that I didn't need anyone's pity. Least of all his.  
But, he stayed calm and he seemed genuinely upset. He WAS genuinely upset. He'd found out for sure the afternoon of the fountain incident when his father had gotten home.  
Then he had understood what I meant before I ran. And his father had freaked. Told him that it was a bad idea. That all he would do was hurt himself.  
Yet, here he was, back again. Because he had fallen for Cammie the caramel latte drinker. The girl scared of spiders and water, that loves M&Ms and her mother, and that misses her father dearly. Not the Cammie that is sick, although he admired how strong she was through it all.  
And all strength aside, I cried then. For the first time in years —since my father died— I cried.

Today is the day.  
The hour is closer than ever.  
The clock ticks are magnified to a roar.  
Everything has slowed around me.  
The nurse comes in, checks my stats, and shakes her head.  
The doctor is trying to calm my mother in the hallway.  
There's a "get well soon" card from all of my classmates back home sitting on the window ledge.  
A picture of Macey, Bex, Liz, and I soaking wet and covered in shaving cream after Battle of the Classes our sophomore year is sitting beside the cup.  
A bouquet of deep purple roses rests on the sill beside the "get well soon" farewell, it's card stating "It's never too early, darling. Happy 17th. – Z."  
The most beautiful and sweet boy I have ever met sits, exhausted and asleep, in the chair beside me, his hand clinging to mine.  
A doctor's prescription is pinned on my bulletin board— "More time with 'that boy'."  
The fountain outside is visible through the window, frozen over from the December chill.  
I only have a few hours left, if that.  
The bowl of M&Ms on my bed stand seems impossibly far away.  
It has been ten years, and today is the day.

The next few weeks flew by more quickly than any in my lifetime. Dr. Patel was right, of course. My strength was slowly but surely depleating. He estimated that I would live to late December. He was right.  
When Zach wasn't in class at Notre Dame, he was at the hospital spending time with me.  
I'll never understand that about him. Why he gave up his soccer scholarship to have more time at the hospital. Why he still chose to be with me, despite my grim future.  
Well, more like lack of future.  
His father wasn't very happy about it. Still isn't. I honestly don't blame him. And I still don't understand why I go along with it, because, all logic in place, I don't approve either.  
At least Zach backed off. Hand holding mine, leaning down to try his luck nearly every day, but I would always turn away. And he would respect that. He didn't complain.  
Even though "no" was usually spoken unconvincingly, and his puppy dog eyes made me melt. He wasn't above pouting.  
But, I would never tell him that he had that affect on me. Although I'm sure he'll be reading this at one point or another. (This is your cue to stop smirking, babe.)  
One day, about a month ago, I was miraculously feeling strong enough to go for a walk with him.  
Dr. Patel reluctantly agreed after some serious bribery on my part and threats on Zach's. Because Titleist golf clubs aren't cheap to replace.  
It was slow going. Especially at first. Embarrassing to have to lean on Zach most of the time, but he kept his arm around my waist so that it wasn't quite as obvious.  
One time I nearly fell, the pain in my stomach overcoming my will to walk, but he just pulled me closer and kissed the top of my head, holding me up the whole way.  
Advantage of being bald: being able to feel your boyfriend's (?) lips against your skin. Experience shows that it sends tingles all the way down to your toes.  
We had to stop often. My lungs were far from being in their prime, and walking took the air out of me.  
A middle aged woman made a comment about how sweet it was that my brother was taking me on a walk. How she got brother, I have no clue, because Zach and I look nothing alike.  
It further confirmed my feelings though. It's universally known. Being in a relationship while weeks from death is pointless. Even the general public knows better than to suspect it.  
But Zach, ever the one to keep his mouth shut (note sarcasm), muttered a "Dear god, woman. I hope she's not my sister. Not with the thoughts I've been having."  
I thought her eyes were going to pop out of her head, and I elbowed him as forcefully as I could given my state of frailty, not bothering to worry about the bruises that I would have later. This only made his eyes twinkle more brightly and his smirk grow into a full-out grin as the woman shuffled hurriedly away.  
I had to have been blood red by that point, and I was embarrassed out of my mind.  
But, as I already was aware of, Zach honestly had no shame. (One particularly rainy day, he had come in to visit me soaking wet and had stripped down to his underwear before I could get out a horrified "There's a bathroom for a REASON." He just laughed. And I couldn't help but stare, because, you know, even dying teenage girls are still, in fact, teenage girls. And Zach is about as beautiful as guys come.)  
But his lack of shame? Boy, did I ever resent him for it.

Today is the day.  
The hour is closer than ever.  
The clock ticks are magnified to a roar.  
Everything has slowed around me.  
The nurse comes in, checks my stats, and shakes her head.  
The doctor is trying to calm my mother in the hallway.  
There's a "get well soon" card from all of my classmates back home sitting on the window ledge.  
A picture of Macey, Bex, Liz, and I soaking wet and covered in shaving cream after Battle of the Classes our sophomore year is sitting beside the cup.  
A bouquet of deep purple roses rests on the sill beside the "get well soon" farewell, it's card stating "It's never too early, darling. Happy 17th. – Z."  
The most beautiful and sweet boy I have ever met sits, exhausted and asleep, in the chair beside me, his hand clinging to mine.  
A doctor's prescription is pinned on my bulletin board— "More time with 'that boy'."  
The fountain outside is visible through the window, frozen over from the December chill.  
I only have a few hours left, if that.  
The bowl of M&Ms on my bed stand seems impossibly far away.  
Tacked beside the doctor's prescription is a note in unmistakeable boy-scrawl that states "You only think that what I said to that woman was a joke..."  
It has been ten years, and today is the day.

**A/N: Alrighty... How was it? **

**I don't know... It seems like its going downhill to me. Which is kind of frustrating. **

**Anyways, review and tell me your thoughts, please?**

**And, by the way, you guys are AMAZING. Just putting that out there. Haha. Your reviews make my day. :)**

**Until next time...**

**Happy Mother's Day! (Here's a review challenge: How'd you spend yours?)**

**—Inez**


	5. Part V

Later on that day, as we were walking across the hospital's grounds, I asked Zach what he wanted to do with his life.  
I know it caught him off guard. He was hesitant to answer. I told him to be honest.  
He wanted–wants–to be a teacher. Math and science and fourth grade. Fourth year, as he called it. He wants kids. Three kids. A family and a dog. To live in one of those brick houses in the historic district. A townhouse. Just like I've always wanted.  
And, suddenly, I could see it. Him being the wonderful teacher that all of the little girls swoon over. His family in their backyard, barbecuing and playing Frisbee with their new puppy. The kids. Three beautiful, precious children. Two little girls and one older boy, all perfect and gorgeous, just like their father.  
His wife, beautiful and caring. With meat on her bones—not too much, but a figure nonetheless, because cancer hadn't robbed her of it. With dancing eyes, nearly as bright as her husband's, because they had never been cold and unseeing. Never been dead. And with gorgeous, long, flowing hair. Thick because it had never fallen out in clumps as she heaved over the toilet, throwing up bloody bits of her stomach after a particularly rough chemo dosage. Perfect. She was perfect.  
And, in some far, far away dream, she might have been me.  
But I knew—know that she won't be. It made jealously sting through me.  
But it made me so happy for Zach. So, so happy that although I won't be able to, he's going to be able to LIVE.  
I asked him if he would promise to do that for me. To live. He stopped dead in his tracks and stared at me, almost as if he didn't understand, but I knew he did.  
It was more like he didn't want to understand. He looked like he was going to say something, but decided against it at the last moment.  
And then his expression changed, and the next thing I knew, I was pressed up against the brick wall of the nearest building, and he was kissing me.  
He was kissing me more intensely than I had ever been kissed before. I tried to push him off, but he growled against my mouth in agitation and just pushed me against the wall even harder.  
His patience had evidently run out. And, I'll admit, so had mine, because I finally kissed him back with equal fervor.  
I didn't care who could see us, even though we were around a corner and pretty well secluded. Zach's hands found the hem of my shirt, and before I could protest, they had slipped under it.  
He was crushing me to the brick, hands sliding up and down my stomach. I pulled away from the kiss and gasped, needing both air and coherent thought.  
Yet "Zach, stop." isn't very convincing when it sounds more like a moan, and he continued kissing down my neck.  
Finally working up the strength, my tone came back more forcefully.  
"Zach, STOP. You're hurting me."  
That made him pull back quickly, his eyes cloudy, and he looked guiltily away. He asked if I'm alright, muttering about how stupid he was to not consider my condition.  
I assure him that I'm fine. Yet, the next day wen he sees the bruises on my arm from his grip, I can tell that he gets upset. I do my best to cover them up. But its obvious that he still tortures himself over it, because once you see something, it can't be unseen.  
It's in his eyes. In the way he has touched me since then. And that makes me hate cancer the more than anything else ever has.

Today is the day.  
The hour is closer than ever.  
The clock ticks are magnified to a roar.  
Everything has slowed around me.  
The nurse comes in, checks my stats, and shakes her head.  
The doctor is trying to calm my mother in the hallway.  
There's a "get well soon" card from all of my classmates back home sitting on the window ledge.  
A picture of Macey, Bex, Liz, and I soaking wet and covered in shaving cream after Battle of the Classes our sophomore year is sitting beside the cup.  
A bouquet of deep purple roses rests on the sill beside the "get well soon" farewell, it's card stating "It's never too early, darling. Happy 17th. – Z."  
The most beautiful and sweet boy I have ever met sits, exhausted and asleep, in the chair beside me, his hand clinging to mine.  
A doctor's prescription is pinned on my bulletin board— "More time with 'that boy'."  
The fountain outside is visible through the window, frozen over from the December chill.  
I only have a few hours left, if that.  
The bowl of M&Ms on my bed stand seems impossibly far away.  
Tacked beside the doctor's prescription is a note in unmistakeable boy-scrawl that states "You only think that what I said to that woman was a joke..."  
Zach stirs beside me, green eyes opening to catch me watching him, and a sad smile graces his lips.  
It has been ten years, and today is the day.

Earlier this month, two week ago, I nearly coded. I had been doing fine. Well, actually, and then all of the sudden, my lungs failed.  
Zach was there, in the middle of telling me about something to do with his college classes, when it happened. My mother had gone to the grocery store to pick up some things. I suddenly felt as if I was suffocating, and my voice wouldn't work.  
I squeezed his hand as tightly as I could, and he finally looked back at me. Then he freaked out.  
My lungs were screaming, but no air was flowing as he fumbled around for my emergency button, all the while looking terrified an calling to me.  
But "Cams! Cammie! Can you hear me? Darling, look at me. Blink if you can hear me." fades into the background as everything goes fuzzy.  
And I couldn't seem to oblige when he sobbed "Oh my God, you aren't breathing! Cammie! Baby, you have to breathe! You have to breathe!" because things had started to turn black.  
All I know is that I'd never seen Zach cry, but he was sobbing then. For me. "Don't leave me, love. Stay with me..."  
But I couldn't. The blackness's blissful tide was pulling at me, taking me further and further away from my beautiful Zach.  
And I faintly was aware that he kissed me. But as the pressure got stronger, I faded to black.  
I felt air being forced into my lungs, by I knew that I was still gone.  
But, even though death and I are old friends, he didn't feel like seeing me that day.  
Zach saved my life that day. His CPR kept me alive. And I'll never be able to make that up to him.

Today is the day.  
The hour is closer than ever.  
The clock ticks are magnified to a roar.  
Everything has slowed around me.  
The nurse comes in, checks my stats, and shakes her head.  
The doctor is trying to calm my mother in the hallway.  
There's a "get well soon" card from all of my classmates back home sitting on the window ledge.  
A picture of Macey, Bex, Liz, and I soaking wet and covered in shaving cream after Battle of the Classes our sophomore year is sitting beside the cup.  
A bouquet of deep purple roses rests on the sill beside the "get well soon" farewell, it's card stating "It's never too early, darling. Happy 17th. – Z."  
The most beautiful and sweet boy I have ever met sits, exhausted and asleep, in the chair beside me, his hand clinging to mine.  
A doctor's prescription is pinned on my bulletin board— "More time with 'that boy'."  
The fountain outside is visible through the window, frozen over from the December chill.  
I only have a few hours left, if that.  
The bowl of M&Ms on my bed stand seems impossibly far away.  
Tacked beside the doctor's prescription is a note in unmistakeable boy-scrawl that states "You only think that what I said to that woman was a joke..."  
Zach stirs beside me, green eyes opening to catch me watching him, and a sad smile graces his lips.  
Those lips saved my life at one point, but I'm about to lose it for good.  
It has been ten years, and today is the day.

**A/N So... Better? Hopefully? Thank you for the suggestions! I really appreciate them, but I'm afraid Cam's friends won't be paying her a visit... You've seen Joe, though. Try to figure out who he is... (Hint: he has an alias)**

**And thanks for sharing how you spent Mothers' Day! I ate with my grandmas and my stepmom and went to church. Nothing special. Haha. :)**

**So... Review and tell me what you think!**

**—Inez**

**P.S. Today was my last day of school. :) Are any of y'all out yet?**


	6. Part VI

The beep of the cardiac monitor cut sharply into my mind, waking me from a haze of sleep in my brain.  
I felt a hand in mine, and by its size and strength, I could tell it was Zach's. But my eyes didn't open like I told them to, and my mouth wouldn't even move to speak. Nothing was working.  
Nothing except my brain.  
But it seems like years when all that can be heard is the beep of a heart monitor until "Well, Zach, I'll just give you a few moments alone with her."  
"Thanks, Rachel."  
Rachel? Since when have my mom and my boyfriend (?) been on a first name basis?  
I heard the door close, and Zach sighed and squeezed my hand harder. I sensed that he was a lot closer than he had been with my mother in the room.  
When his voice came, it was so close that his sweet breath whisked over my face. "That's the first time she's left your side, Cams." His voice is tight and strained and strange. Unlike the Zach I'm used to.  
"It's been a week, and she has to get some fresh air. You should see her, love. She's nearly gone stir crazy." His laugh sounds hollow and fake.  
He's silent for a long while, and then I hear quiet sobs.  
His hand feels as if it's trying to break my fingers in two, but it's strong and familiar. I wouldn't complain if I was able to.  
Hearing Zach cry. That was agonizing. Not being able to comfort him? That was worse.  
A deep breath, then, "Dad keeps telling me that I need to give it up while I have the chance... Give you up... But... Cammie, I can't. I've tried to make myself before, and..."  
He is choked off and there is more sobbing and my heart is breaking for him.  
He shouldn't be here. He should he out with college friends living it up, not here in a hospital every free second to see a dying girl that can't even talk to him. That mightaswell be a vegetable.  
Finally his lips against the back of my now- numb hand, "I... I can't lose you, love. I... I don't know what... When you asked me to promise to live. I don't know how to without you anymore. Without your laugh and your comfort and your touch... It's only been a little over two months, but..."

Today is the day.  
The hour is closer than ever.  
The clock ticks are magnified to a roar.  
Everything has slowed around me.  
The nurse comes in, checks my stats, and shakes her head.  
The doctor is trying to calm my mother in the hallway.  
There's a "get well soon" card from all of my classmates back home sitting on the window ledge.  
A picture of Macey, Bex, Liz, and I soaking wet and covered in shaving cream after Battle of the Classes our sophomore year is sitting beside the cup.  
A bouquet of deep purple roses rests on the sill beside the "get well soon" farewell, it's card stating "It's never too early, darling. Happy 17th. – Z."  
The most beautiful and sweet boy I have ever met sits, exhausted and asleep, in the chair beside me, his hand clinging to mine.  
A doctor's prescription is pinned on my bulletin board— "More time with 'that boy'."  
The fountain outside is visible through the window, frozen over from the December chill.  
I only have a few hours left, if that.  
The bowl of M&Ms on my bed stand seems impossibly far away.  
Tacked beside the doctor's prescription is a note in unmistakeable boy-scrawl that states "You only think that what I said to that woman was a joke..."  
Zach stirs beside me, green eyes opening to catch me watching him, and a sad smile graces his lips.  
Those lips saved my life at one point, but I'm about to lose it for good.  
"Good morning, sunshine," but there's no sun in the future forecast at all.  
It has been ten years, and today is the day.

He loves me. It had only been a little over two months, but he loved me.  
And I loved him and hated him for it. Loved him for obvious reasons. I mean, he had never sounded so vulnerable before as he said those words.  
I loved him as much as I would allow myself to love a person. Timidly. Carefully, to make sure that they wouldn't feel the need to love me back.  
But he did.  
And I hated him for it.  
Not literally, of course. That would be impossible. It made me upset. Mad.  
Mad at myself because I had let him love me. I mean, all it was and is going to do is hurt us both.  
Didn't he SEE that? Didn't he see that his dad was–is still–right? Apparently not.  
I wanted to both slap him and kiss him for it. (Of course, the selfish part of me would definitely kiss him.)  
But, despite my shock, I still managed to muster up all possible will that I had. The thought of him just sitting there after he said that—just sitting there staring at an asleep me—made me sick.  
I willed my mouth to open, but it wouldn't. I willed my eyes to blank, but once again, they refused to oblige.  
Miracle of all, though (I'm still thanking God for this one), when I tried to squeeze his hand, my fingers responded. It wasn't much—I was questionable about him even being able to feel it—but it was something. Some small victory.  
Some small piece of hope.  
I immediately felt him tense. He had felt it. Thank God, he had felt it.  
When "Cammie?" comes out as a hesitant and shaky half-laugh.  
"Cams... I should have known you'd be listening, love."  
He sounded happier than I'd ever heard him.  
" Oh, thank God you are listening, sweetheart."  
He started to say something else, but the door opening interrupted him.  
My mom's voice, telling him that he should go home and get some rest. It made me wonder exactly what time it was and how long he had been there by my side.  
He told her that he felt me squeeze his hand—that he KNEW I was listening. She sounded tireder than I've ever heard her when she told him that it was impossible. That it had to have been an involuntary muscle spasm.  
And I was even sadder and tireder than she sounded when he believed her.

Today is the day.  
The hour is closer than ever.  
The clock ticks are magnified to a roar.  
Everything has slowed around me.  
The nurse comes in, checks my stats, and shakes her head.  
The doctor is trying to calm my mother in the hallway.  
There's a "get well soon" card from all of my classmates back home sitting on the window ledge.  
A picture of Macey, Bex, Liz, and I soaking wet and covered in shaving cream after Battle of the Classes our sophomore year is sitting beside the cup.  
A bouquet of deep purple roses rests on the sill beside the "get well soon" farewell, it's card stating "It's never too early, darling. Happy 17th. – Z."  
The most beautiful and sweet boy I have ever met sits, exhausted and asleep, in the chair beside me, his hand clinging to mine.  
A doctor's prescription is pinned on my bulletin board— "More time with 'that boy'."  
The fountain outside is visible through the window, frozen over from the December chill.  
I only have a few hours left, if that.  
The bowl of M&Ms on my bed stand seems impossibly far away.  
Tacked beside the doctor's prescription is a note in unmistakeable boy-scrawl that states "You only think that what I said to that woman was a joke..."  
Zach stirs beside me, green eyes opening to catch me watching him, and a sad smile graces his lips.  
Those lips saved my life at one point, but I'm about to lose it for good.  
"Good morning, sunshine," but there's no sun in the future forecast at all.  
A small green tree glints in the corner, its lights hurting my eyes when I try to look at it.  
It has been ten years, and today is the day.

**A/N: Ello! Happy very early Saturday morning. Haha**

**Sorry. I was going to update earlier today, but then I started painting and forgot about it.**

**So... I'm sorry that some of you still have so much school left. That really sucks... Hopefully it'll fly by quickly!**

**And thanks for reviewing! You have no idea how much I appreciate it!**

**On a random note... I have this weird obsession with painting tshirts lately (today's had the chorus of "Grace Cathedral Hill" by The Decemberists). Does anyone else have a weird obsession? Or an insane appreciation for The Decemberists? Haha**

**Annyyywaaaayyysss...**

**Please review and tell me what you think?**

**—Inez**


	7. Part VII

I was in that coma for weeks. Three to be exact. Thanksgiving passed while I was asleep. Zach convinced my mother to have dinner with them, because by that time, I think they had more or less given up on me.  
I don't blame them. I would have as well.  
When I did wake up, only my mother was there. It was in the middle of the day, and she was asleep. I didn't wake her up. I just laid there until she stirred, then weakly squeezed her hand.  
She nearly went spastic on me. I don't blame her. She wanted to call Zach, but I protested. He would still be in class, and I knew that he would leave and skip if he knew I was awake.  
I told her I would wait.  
I told her that he would come.  
I was wrong.  
He didn't come that day.  
He didn't come the next.  
And when he did, he looked worn ragged. Finals, he said to my mom as he passed her going into the door.  
And then he saw me.  
I made the decision right then and there to not tell him that I'd been waiting on him for days.  
I made the decision to not tell him that I had been listening in on everything that was said for three weeks.  
Sometimes, ignorance is bliss.  
When his eyes locked with mine, they were more surprised than I'd ever seen.  
And "Oh, god, Cammie..." comes out in a whispered breath and then I am in his arms and squeezed so tightly that I fear I will snap.  
The pain in my bones makes me clench my teeth and bite my lip, but I don't dare tell him to let go.  
He leans back and looks me in the eyes, and I'm surprised to find tears threatening to spill out of his.  
"Never again, Cams. You can't ever scare us like that again."  
The pain in his eyes bores into mine and then his lips are on mine in the sweetest and most careful kiss I've ever received.  
His forehead against mine, our breath intermingling as he lays beside me on my bed later that night, talking in whispered voices about anything and everything, as we have been for hours.  
Talking and kissing and kissing and talking. And when I told him he should go home and get some rest, he refused.  
He drifted off before I did, though, eyes fluttering closed finally and breath evening out. I just pulled him closer and kissed his forehead, then settled into my own pained sleep.

Today is the day.  
The hour is closer than ever.  
The clock ticks are magnified to a roar.  
Everything has slowed around me.  
The nurse comes in, checks my stats, and shakes her head.  
The doctor is trying to calm my mother in the hallway.  
There's a "get well soon" card from all of my classmates back home sitting on the window ledge.  
A picture of Macey, Bex, Liz, and I soaking wet and covered in shaving cream after Battle of the Classes our sophomore year is sitting beside the cup.  
A bouquet of deep purple roses rests on the sill beside the "get well soon" farewell, it's card stating "It's never too early, darling. Happy 17th. – Z."  
The most beautiful and sweet boy I have ever met sits, exhausted and asleep, in the chair beside me, his hand clinging to mine.  
A doctor's prescription is pinned on my bulletin board— "More time with 'that boy'."  
The fountain outside is visible through the window, frozen over from the December chill.  
I only have a few hours left, if that.  
The bowl of M&Ms on my bed stand seems impossibly far away.  
Tacked beside the doctor's prescription is a note in unmistakeable boy-scrawl that states "You only think that what I said to that woman was a joke..."  
Zach stirs beside me, green eyes opening to catch me watching him, and a sad smile graces his lips.  
Those lips saved my life at one point, but I'm about to lose it for good.  
"Good morning, sunshine," but there's no sun in the future forecast at all.  
A small green tree glints in the corner, its lights hurting my eyes when I try to look at it.  
A plate of sugar cookies sits on the table at the foot of my bed, untouched.  
It has been ten years, and today is the day.

I wake up to a blood-curdling scream, panting and disoriented, stomach wrenching and body aching. Only when Zach's eyes snap open in front of mine and his face registers a most- terrified expression do I realize that the scream was my own.  
But "Oh my God, baby. You're burning up!" is drowned out by my mother rushing through the door, worried and flustered, demanding to know what was wrong.  
She didn't even seem to notice that Zach and I had slept together all night; she just ran over and pressed her hand to my forehead. "Oh no. Oh, God, no! NO! No!" It was freezing and I was fainting. I could feel it.  
Zach, blurry in my swimming vision. "Cammie, Cams! Stay with us, sweetheart. Stay with us! Cammie! Cammie! Love, can you hear me?" faded into nothing.  
Silence. Deep, impossible silence.  
Blissful black swallowing me whole.  
A sudden bright flash, and then the shock. Oh, my goodness, the shock hurt like hell.  
"She's back, but the rate's fading fast! Rob! Hurry! On one... Two... Three... NOW!" Another shock, and I'm gasping and sputtering and screaming and I can see nothing but light and faces looming over mine.  
My mothers screams and cries in the background. My vision clears and I see Zach, face white as a sheet, and don't even think to be self conscious about the fact that they've ripped my shirt off to use the defibrillator. He's staring me in the eyes, more terrified than I've ever seen him before.  
I know that he was scarred that day, seeing a person die before his eyes. And now I have died three times in my life. And I have taken extra care to make sure that he only knows about the last. One scar is one too many to make him suffer.

Today is the day.  
The hour is closer than ever.  
The clock ticks are magnified to a roar.  
Everything has slowed around me.  
The nurse comes in, checks my stats, and shakes her head.  
The doctor is trying to calm my mother in the hallway.  
There's a "get well soon" card from all of my classmates back home sitting on the window ledge.  
A picture of Macey, Bex, Liz, and I soaking wet and covered in shaving cream after Battle of the Classes our sophomore year is sitting beside the cup.  
A bouquet of deep purple roses rests on the sill beside the "get well soon" farewell, it's card stating "It's never too early, darling. Happy 17th. – Z."  
The most beautiful and sweet boy I have ever met sits, exhausted and asleep, in the chair beside me, his hand clinging to mine.  
A doctor's prescription is pinned on my bulletin board— "More time with 'that boy'."  
The fountain outside is visible through the window, frozen over from the December chill.  
I only have a few hours left, if that.  
The bowl of M&Ms on my bed stand seems impossibly far away.  
Tacked beside the doctor's prescription is a note in unmistakeable boy-scrawl that states "You only think that what I said to that woman was a joke..."  
Zach stirs beside me, green eyes opening to catch me watching him, and a sad smile graces his lips.  
Those lips saved my life at one point, but I'm about to lose it for good.  
"Good morning, sunshine," but there's no sun in the future forecast at all.  
A small green tree glints in the corner, its lights hurting my eyes when I try to look at it.  
A plate of sugar cookies sits on the table at the foot of my bed, untouched.  
The little poster of pain levels is tacked on my bulletin board, and I know that I am past a ten.  
It has been ten years, and today is the day.

**A/N: Okay, so I portrayed that decently...**

**And sorry for the longer-ish wait. Things have busy around here. Haha**

**So thanks for sharing your quirky habits (RosegirlPrincess). And I'm so glad SpanishGallagherGirl agrees with me about The Decemberists, because I thought was alone. Haha**

**Anyways... Thank everyone for their amazing reviews! :) I really really really appreciate them. (And don't tell my English teacher that I just used excessive repitition. She would murder me and triple my summer work. Haha)**

**This author's note is getting really long, and I really need to go practice rifle, so... Without further ado... **

**Review? Please? Tell me what you think?**

**Thanks!**

**-Inez**


	8. Part VIII

Things have gotten both better and worse. This morning, I woke up to a sharp throbbing in my bones and stomach. Zach's arms were around me snugly and our legs were tangled together into a jumble under the thick quilt that my mother had brought from home. I breathed deeply into his chest, reveling at the fact that soap could smell so good on an individual person.  
His gray Notre Dame tshirt was soft and worn, and his superman pajama pants rubbed softly against my mostly-bare legs as he shifted his position, pulling me more tightly into his chest and stretching out to his full length.  
His long eyelashes fluttered slightly as he began to gain consciousness, and they casted dark shadows across the top of his cheekbones as he tried to settle back into sleep.  
But "Oohhh Zaaaccchh... Time to wake uuuppp..." only gets a grumble in reply, and he just pulls me more tightly into him.  
Biting back a cry of pain, I push on his chest lightly. He doesn't budge.  
I know that he isn't meaning to hurt me, but for some reason, I am especially sore this morning.  
Finally, I flip over to face the window, and his arms loosen around me as I settle my back back into his chest.  
Snow is falling lightly though the morning light and lighting on the trees below. The city stretches out, all coated in the powdery white fluff.  
Zach's hands run lightly up and down my arms, raising goosebumps everywhere they touched, somewhat soothing the throbbing inside me as they moved from my arms to my waist and down to the hem of my nightgown, pushing it up to my stomach, his hands trailing like fire over my lower ribs, but drifting lower.  
I muttered his name but got no response. His hands paused though, and I had him.  
So "Zach, I know you're awake" is snapped with mock irritability as I stop his hands on my hips right above the hem of my pantyline with my own. "And you're hardly being appropriate." I take his hands away and tug my gown back down to mid-thigh.  
"Good morning, darling," was muttered into my ear breathily and I shivered, causing him to laugh. He turned me gently back to him, and immediately his lips met mine. Softly, then more demanding as his hands began their trailing again.  
Suddenly voices appeared outside out in the hallway, and we broke quickly away from each other, flushed and breathing heavily. He bit his lip lightly and laughed at my blushing face, tracing a finger lightly along my jawline and them over my lips.  
"Merry..."  
And the door flew open.

Today is the day.  
The hour is closer than ever.  
The clock ticks are magnified to a roar.  
Everything has slowed around me.  
The nurse comes in, checks my stats, and shakes her head.  
The doctor is trying to calm my mother in the hallway.  
There's a "get well soon" card from all of my classmates back home sitting on the window ledge.  
A picture of Macey, Bex, Liz, and I soaking wet and covered in shaving cream after Battle of the Classes our sophomore year is sitting beside the cup.  
A bouquet of deep purple roses rests on the sill beside the "get well soon" farewell, it's card stating "It's never too early, darling. Happy 17th. – Z."  
The most beautiful and sweet boy I have ever met sits, exhausted and asleep, in the chair beside me, his hand clinging to mine.  
A doctor's prescription is pinned on my bulletin board— "More time with 'that boy'."  
The fountain outside is visible through the window, frozen over from the December chill.  
I only have a few hours left, if that.  
The bowl of M&Ms on my bed stand seems impossibly far away.  
Tacked beside the doctor's prescription is a note in unmistakeable boy-scrawl that states "You only think that what I said to that woman was a joke..."  
Zach stirs beside me, green eyes opening to catch me watching him, and a sad smile graces his lips.  
Those lips saved my life at one point, but I'm about to lose it for good.  
"Good morning, sunshine," but there's no sun in the future forecast at all.  
A small green tree glints in the corner, its lights hurting my eyes when I try to look at it.  
A plate of sugar cookies sits on the table at the foot of my bed, untouched.  
The little poster of pain levels is tacked on my bulletin board, and I know that I am past a ten.  
Today is December 25th.  
It has been ten years, and today is the day.

Mom was ecstatic to see me already up, but not quite so overjoyed to find Zach in bed with me yet again, although she was well aware that we have never done anything.  
But when the nurse came in to take my temperature, her face went pale at the reading, and then my mom's did the same. And when Zach saw it, his arms clenched around me. They didn't show it to me.  
I didn't need to see it. I was freezing, and that was a perfectly good explanation of their expressions.  
Mom made Zach go take a shower and shave while Dr. Patel came in. He checked my vitals, shaking his head the whole time.  
My body ached and my lungs burned and everything seemed to be crashing at once. Everything had crashed before, but never all at once. Never like this.  
Tears stung my eyes, but I pushed them back. Dr. Patel looked up at me sympathetically. It was like we exchanged nothing and everything in that one glance.  
We both knew—know—what is happening. We both know that this was and is it. Today will be the day.

Today is the day.  
The hour is closer than ever.  
The clock ticks are magnified to a roar.  
Everything has slowed around me.  
The nurse comes in, checks my stats, and shakes her head.  
The doctor is trying to calm my mother in the hallway.  
There's a "get well soon" card from all of my classmates back home sitting on the window ledge.  
A picture of Macey, Bex, Liz, and I soaking wet and covered in shaving cream after Battle of the Classes our sophomore year is sitting beside the cup.  
A bouquet of deep purple roses rests on the sill beside the "get well soon" farewell, it's card stating "It's never too early, darling. Happy 17th. – Z."  
The most beautiful and sweet boy I have ever met sits, exhausted and asleep, in the chair beside me, his hand clinging to mine.  
A doctor's prescription is pinned on my bulletin board— "More time with 'that boy'."  
The fountain outside is visible through the window, frozen over from the December chill.  
I only have a few hours left, if that.  
The bowl of M&Ms on my bed stand seems impossibly far away.  
Tacked beside the doctor's prescription is a note in unmistakeable boy-scrawl that states "You only think that what I said to that woman was a joke..."  
Zach stirs beside me, green eyes opening to catch me watching him, and a sad smile graces his lips.  
Those lips saved my life at one point, but I'm about to lose it for good.  
"Good morning, sunshine," but there's no sun in the future forecast at all.  
A small green tree glints in the corner, its lights hurting my eyes when I try to look at it.  
A plate of sugar cookies sits on the table at the foot of my bed, untouched.  
The little poster of pain levels is tacked on my bulletin board, and I know that I am past a ten.  
Today is December 25th.  
The heart monitor is getting slower and slower.  
It has been ten years, and today is the day.

**A/N: So... The next update will be the last, and it kinda makes me sad... Really sad. But, meanwhile, I just checked my email for the first time since posting this story and it was blown up with your alerts/favorites and I realized that I haven't thanked all of you peoples for that (quite possibly because I was totally unaware. Haha) Anyways, THANK YOU SO MUCH!**

**And thank you to the uber-lovely reviewers! :) You make me smile real big (and completely disregard grammar)... So :D **

**Oh yes! Is anyone on Figment? **

**And if so, have you read SJ Bouquet's "If I'm Louder"? Because its AMAZINGLY funny and frustrating and just ARRRGGHHH! **

**And my best friend Faith's "Start Over" which is amazing and poetic and once again just ARRGGHHH!**

**Sorry... Moment there. Anyways... You should go and read them!**

**And review and give me your opinions on both my story and theirs! Haha**

**Anyways, I shall leave you with song lyrics!**

**"I can't help it... I love the broken ones. The ones who need the most patching up... The ones who've never been loved. Never been loved. Never been loved enough." -Dia Frampton "The Broken Ones"**

**-Inez**


	9. Part IX

Telling someone that you are dying is the hardest thing any person will ever have to do.  
My mother did not take it as well as I had hoped. I told her that I was going to see my daddy soon. She sobbed and sobbed hysterically for the longest hour of my life, clinging hopelessly to my hand and crying and crying and crying. She is still crying. She doesn't realize that her tears are exhausting me as well.  
She clung to my hang as I told Zach. He didn't cry, although I could see in his eyes that the tears were threatening to spill over. He just nodded stiffly and took my other hand. It made me love him even more.  
He understood that strength is the one thing I need. And that his could help me more than any amount of his crying could.  
The hours wore on, presents unwrapped and carols were sung to honor my requests. Each minute I could feel myself fading more and more, and the pain grew until sometimes it overtook my vision and I would have to quickly blink away the black clouds.

Lung function: 29% and fading  
Cardiac function: skipping every seven beats. Fading quickly.  
Kidney function: 12%

"She's on the verge of a comatose state, Ms. Morgan." and then my mother goes crazy. Zach's soft breaths come more heavily now, as if he's struggling to accept the news, even though I know this is impossible. He couldn't have heard the nurse while asleep.  
Dr. Patel guides my mother into the hallway to try to calm her, and for the first time in a long time, I make a note to notice things...

Today is the day.  
The hour is closer than ever.  
The clock ticks are magnified to a roar.  
Everything has slowed around me.  
The nurse comes in, checks my stats, and shakes her head.  
The doctor is trying to calm my mother in the hallway.  
There's a "get well soon" card from all of my classmates back home sitting on the window ledge.  
A picture of Macey, Bex, Liz, and I soaking wet and covered in shaving cream after Battle of the Classes our sophomore year is sitting beside the cup.  
A bouquet of deep purple roses rests on the sill beside the "get well soon" farewell, it's card stating "It's never too early, darling. Happy 17th. – Z."  
The most beautiful and sweet boy I have ever met sits, exhausted and asleep, in the chair beside me, his hand clinging to mine.  
A doctor's prescription is pinned on my bulletin board— "More time with 'that boy'."  
The fountain outside is visible through the window, frozen over from the December chill.  
I only have a few hours left, if that.  
The bowl of M&Ms on my bed stand seems impossibly far away.  
Tacked beside the doctor's prescription is a note in unmistakeable boy-scrawl that states "You only think that what I said to that woman was a joke..."  
Zach stirs beside me, green eyes opening to catch me watching him, and a sad smile graces his lips.  
Those lips saved my life at one point, but I'm about to lose it for good.  
"Good morning, sunshine," but there's no sun in the future forecast at all.  
A small green tree glints in the corner, its lights hurting my eyes when I try to look at it.  
A plate of sugar cookies sits on the table at the foot of my bed, untouched.  
The little poster of pain levels is tacked on my bulletin board, and I know that I am past a ten.  
Today is December 25th.  
The heart monitor is getting slower and slower.  
I'm fading fast.  
It has been ten years, and today is the day.

And "I love you, Cammie. So, so much" comes out with a cracking voice, his lips lightly kissing mine.  
"I... love... you... Zach..."  
Pain. Overwhelming pain and I am out for a few seconds, then back into his world again.  
"Tell... mom... I'm... sorry..."  
And my strength is gone. His hand squeezes mine tightly. A pause of disbelief before it sinks in. And then he's yelling my name, sobbing my name. Crying for me not to leave him.  
Crying and sobbing and "No! No! Nonononono! Cammie! Stay with me! Stay with us, sweetheart! Stay with us! We need you! I need you! I need you so, so, so, so much..." trails off as I hear the alarms of my heart monitor bottoming out and then I everything is black and silent again.  
A flashback to the day before I met Zach, standing in front of that mirror, wishing myself dead. But, I realize, I don't want to die anymore. He taught me how to live. I don't want to die and be without him. And my mother. I don't want to leave my mother...  
But, still the blackness comes.  
Blissful and black and silent and the pain is gone. The bright light comes again, and this time it welcomes me. And I know that I am gone...

Today is the day.  
The hour is closer than ever.  
The clock ticks are magnified to a roar.  
Everything has slowed around me.  
The nurse comes in, checks my stats, and shakes her head.  
The doctor is trying to calm my mother in the hallway.  
There's a "get well soon" card from all of my classmates back home sitting on the window ledge.  
A picture of Macey, Bex, Liz, and I soaking wet and covered in shaving cream after Battle of the Classes our sophomore year is sitting beside the cup.  
A bouquet of deep purple roses rests on the sill beside the "get well soon" farewell, it's card stating "It's never too early, darling. Happy 17th. – Z."  
The most beautiful and sweet boy I have ever met sits, exhausted and asleep, in the chair beside me, his hand clinging to mine.  
A doctor's prescription is pinned on my bulletin board— "More time with 'that boy'."  
The fountain outside is visible through the window, frozen over from the December chill.  
I only have a few hours left, if that.  
The bowl of M&Ms on my bed stand seems impossibly far away.  
Tacked beside the doctor's prescription is a note in unmistakeable boy-scrawl that states "You only think that what I said to that woman was a joke..."  
Zach stirs beside me, green eyes opening to catch me watching him, and a sad smile graces his lips.  
Those lips saved my life at one point, but I'm about to lose it for good.  
"Good morning, sunshine," but there's no sun in the future forecast at all.  
A small green tree glints in the corner, its lights hurting my eyes when I try to look at it.  
A plate of sugar cookies sits on the table at the foot of my bed, untouched.  
The little poster of pain levels is tacked on my bulletin board, and I know that I am past a ten.  
Today is December 25th.  
The heart monitor is getting slower and slower.  
I'm fading fast.  
I have loved and been loved and lived and helped others live, so now...  
It has been ten years, and today was the day.

**A/N So... There you go... **

**I wish that I could have met some if yall's requests and let her live, but my imagination just wouldn't let it happen. :(**

**And sorry it took so long to get this out. I've been spending time with family and such. **

**So, I guess until next time, I shall bid you adieu. **

**Have an awesome summer and hopefully I'll get a story idea worth sharing again sometime soon. Haha**

**"If I'm louder, would you see me?" -Niall Horan (I may be a tad bit infatuated with the lovely Irish lad. Haha)**

**See ya on the flip side!**

**—Inez**


	10. Part X: Epilogue

**A/N Okay, so I lied... Haha. A lovely reviewer by the name of GGirl asked for a oneshot in Zach's POV and it was like BOOM! Writer's explosion. Right there. Haha. So... Here goes. I give you the epilogue...**

Zach's POV

Deep breaths.

One... Breathe in...

Two... Breathe out...

Three... In...

Four... Out...

This isn't happening.

It has been ten years.

It has been ten years, and today is the day.

This is happening.

I can't believe this is happening.

This shouldn't be happening, but it is.

Deep breaths.

Deep, deep breaths

In

And

Out.

In

And

Out.

My hands are clammy, and somehow, despite the chill of the room, I am burning up.

But "Zach... Are you okay? You look a little faint" only flashes me back to another day in another place ten years ago when those exact words were spoken to me in another voice.

Deep breaths.

One... In...

Two... Out...

Three... In...

Four... Out...

I can't do this. I can't sit here and watch this.

I can't watch her be lowered down when I have to stay above ground.

I

Want

To

Be

Down

There.

I want to be with her.

It's like watching her be smothered. Like she's still alive.

She isn't alive.

Zach, she's dead.

She. Isn't. Alive.

And I still can't grasp that.

Liz hisses at me again, nudging my leg. And I know she means well, but it takes everything in me to not bite her head off.

I glare at my knees, at the snow-smothered trees around us, at the terrible green AstroTurf that the funeral home laid on the ground under the matching horrible green tent. At anywhere but her glossy white casket. At anywhere but the hole in the ground underneath it.

Liz sighs and gives up, and I see her bite her lip as if to hold back more of the tears that haven't seemed to stop streaming down her face since she stepped off of the plane at the airport.

Bex glares at me, and I can tell she's mad at me for making little Liz cry. Liz is a fragile soul.

Macey just puts an arm around her and pats her back until the tears stop streaming again.

And as much as I loved—love—Cammie, I hate her friends.

They abandoned her when she needed them most. They came back when the going was easiest.

They didn't have to see her fade away right before their eyes like I did. They didn't have to watch her die.

They should have been there.

For

Her.

Because as much as she hated to admit it herself, Cammie was a fragile soul as well.

And she needed them.

By the looks of their crestfallen faces, they might have needed her as well.

But not like I need her.

Rachel is hysterical.

My dad didn't even show up to the funeral, and

I

Want

To

Be

Dead.

Standing by the casket after the preacher has said his words and the crowd has cleared away out of the cold, not being able to look at her motionless, waxy features. The white casket glitters in the afternoon sunlight and the deep purple roses atop it are the prettiest I've ever laid eyes on.

My Cammie is gone. My love is gone. She wants me to live. But where is the life when the source of mine has gone?

And for the first time in a long time, I completely and utterly

Break.

"Zach?" the voice snaps me back to reality.

"Hm?" I grunt, pulling myself out of the lingering tendrils of that hazy goodbye.

"It's time."

And it is.

Today is the day.

It has been ten years.

And today is the day.

I finally look up from my clammy, fidgeting hands as the organ and piano start to play their commanding song.

And there she is.

Dressed in white, head to toe, father leading her down the isle.

Shy smile at me, and I realize that that's both the most timid and most beautiful I've ever seen her.

And it's for ME.

And I'm thinking that I can't do this.

That I can't live through another heartbreak.

That Cammie wouldn't want this. But I know that's a lie.

Because she told me to live.

It seems like both hours and mere milliseconds until she's standing in front of the altar with me, her father giving me her hand, and me taking it with a smirk to hide my nervous jitters.

She told me to LIVE. And although I'll never forget Cammie, I know that this lovely young woman will help me fulfill that wish.

We've already closed on the purchase of our townhouse. We've picked out a puppy to adopt at the local animal shelter.

My fourth grade class sits two rows from the front, staring with wide eyes as their teacher says "I do."

Even wider eyes as he kisses his new wife.

And as the preacher proclaims "Mr. and Mrs. Zachary Goode" lawfully married, the most bright and happy of smiles breaks out across my face.

Because she told me to live. And with Macey, I know that I can do just that. And she will understand every step of the way.

Because it has been ten years since I met Cameron Anne Morgan.

It has been ten years since she changed my life.

It has been ten years since she taught me how to love and live.

It has been ten years since she died.

It has been ten years since I met the second love of my life.

It has been ten years since I resolved to fulfill all the promises I made Cam.

It has been ten years.

And today was the day.

**A/N So there it is... It's officially done. Sorry for being all fickle, and I swear, there's like a .19863% chance that will EVER happen again. Haha. So until next time...**

**—Inez**


End file.
